Safe as Houses
by Follow-ur-Shadow
Summary: She doesn't wake once during the drive, doesn't stir as he lifts her out of the van. - Helen/Will
1. Chapter 1

He finds her first, in the basement of the derelict building... squinting as the light from behind him floods the dark room. It takes his own eyes a moment to adjust and when they do he's stunted by a wave of anger, forcing the emotion to wash over him as the radio near his ear crackles to life. He assures Henry the men weren't lying, she's here, _safe _and ends the transmission as his feet pick up the slack propelling him down the stairs.

She musters a soft groan as he kneels beside her and the sound twists violently in his stomach. He knows she'll be fine, even after a severe beating she'll still heal faster than most but that doesn't alleviate his guilt. They should have worked faster, found her sooner.

Swallowing the regret he presses to her cheek, tilting her chin up so he can get a better look at her face. There's a large cut over her brow and a bruise forming under her right eye but she manages the strength to push his hand away, insisting that they leave quickly. He assures her there's no rush, that Henry has the men responsible in containment but there's still a hint of fear present behind her unfocused gaze. _Bastards, _he thinks... feeling his anger resurface. He knows from experience how hard it is to shake her composure and while it's likely due to the concussion, the perceptible doubt is unsettling.

When she doesn't relent in her efforts he sighs and helps her to sit up, wincing at all the various cracks that take place. He wants to believe she's just stiff from laying on the cold cement but its more likely her ribs realigning and for a moment he wishes she'd just pass out... but it won't happen, not immediately at least. She's far too stubborn which is why he holds back, allowing her to try and stand on her own two feet.

He's surprised -_though he really shouldn't be_- that she makes it to the stairs without faltering but at the first step her shallow breathing becomes apparent and he shifts a little closer. They're less than halfway when his hand moves to her waist in support and by the last step she's finally safe in his arms, completely oblivious as he caries her the rest of the way out.

She doesn't wake once during the drive, doesn't stir as he lifts her out of the van. In fact she remains almost completely motionless for the next forty-eight hours, save the slight flicker of eyelids and rise of her chest. He's seriously starting to worry, wondering if perhaps he was a little quick to judge her healing abilities when she surprises him once again, waking with a reprimand that his filling deserves more attention than her minor injuries.

He wants to tell her the truth, that her 'minor' injuries will probably be the main reason he doesn't sleep for the next week but he holds the comment not wanting to add to her worries. Right now she needs to focus on getting better and it's not the first time, nor will it be the last, that a mission gone awry lingers on his nerves. It's an occupational hazard and he smiles, trying to mask the true extent of his concern.

She buys the diversion, or at least he thinks she does... until warm fingers clamp around his hand and he returns the gesture giving a light squeeze. They're getting too good at reading between the lines, reading each other... though -_after losing himself for a moment in her gaze_- he decides maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Telling her to get some rest he agrees to her compromise, promising that he'll try and get some sleep as well. Despite her previous ribbing about reports it's clear she worried. After nearly three days at her side he must look like shit and resolves even if he doesn't get to bed to at least shower and shave before his next visit.

He lets go of her hand but glances back as he reaches to the door, not surprised to see she's already dozing. He's relieved to see her colouring has returned to a shade above the crisp white sheets and nods to The Big Guy who's been hovering in the observation room. The towering abnormal returns the gesture and he feels a little more at ease as he vacates the private room.

She's here, _safe_... and that's all he can ask for.

Well, that _and_ an extension for the deadline on his paperwork.


	2. Chapter 2

She tolerates his hovering but when she's finally given reprieve from the infirmary all she wants to do is take a long hot bath and soak in the silence. Only it's not as comforting as she expects. The water grows cold too quickly, the suds deflate leaving her barely covered and her body is simply too exhausted to try and amend the discomfort.

It's then she realises just how much she misses him.

His consistent vigil, the warm voice pooling by her side... it made her feel safe and she knows when the shivers start they aren't just from the drop in temperature. She's never been good at accepting help, letting people breach her defences and he's done it in the most intricate of ways, creating thousands of tiny cracks that have built over time to completely shatter her resolve. The worst part, he's not even aware that he's done it. She doesn't know whether that's a blessing or a curse but decides on the former because the latter presents too many inappropriate contemplations.

She wants him, but she's not allowed to admit that.

Sliding down further in the tub she folds her arms in an attempt to keep the chills at bay. It helps a little but the compromise is a sharp twinge in her side and despite the pain she holds the position, knowing eventually it will drive her to move. She hates being this weak, hates that her body is so reluctant to cooperate but there's nothing she can do except wait.

Time will heal the wounds, it always does... the physical ones at least.

The stab intensifies and she wonders if it's because of the bruising or the fact that she's feeling particularly vulnerable at the moment. It isn't surprising really. She's exhausted and while the danger of falling asleep in the bath is slim, she decides not to discount it as a possibility.

She really _should_ try and get out.

The idea is eventually dismissed and she's ready to succumb to whatever ailment befalls her first when a soft knock sounds at the door. Given she's in her own personal en-suite she can pretty much narrow the intruder down to one of two colleagues bold enough to enter and since only one of them -_the substantially less hairy one_- has been her shadow for the past week, it's a safe bet to assume with certainty it's Will.

Her suspicions are confirmed when his voice, warmer than she can remember, muffles thickly through the door and for once she doesn't mind that her attempt at reassurance fails miserably. At this point she's grateful she doesn't have the strength to reject his help because honestly death by rubber ducky isn't how she'd like to be remembered.

She realises she's lost a few seconds when a towel suddenly enters her peripheral vision and she keeps her gaze averted, trying to hide her embarrassment but the note of fear in his tone makes her immediately regret the detachment. She forces herself to look at him, taking in his concerned expression with a sharp breath. There's an intensity behind his eyes, emotion she can't let herself acknowledge and it snaps her guilt into overdrive.

Finally she pushes out that she's fine, just tired.

Of course he doesn't believe her and she can't dispute his point; that if she really was fine he wouldn't have found her nearly catatonic in the tub. But regardless of that fact, she tries to fake reassurance as he wraps the towel around her shoulders and all but pulls her out of the water. It's difficult but she grants it in a small smile, until she realises the next move is to climb over the smooth porcelain. He's a step ahead of her though and in one swift motion she's in his arms, barely noticing the pain as her fingers clasp tightly around his neck.

It's an odd sensation, being essentially naked against his chest but he's managed to keep her modesty intact and so she lets the mortification slide.

Perhaps when she's more alert she'll even grant him the satisfaction of being right, admit that she should have stayed in the infirmary longer. Because at the moment, as he lowers her gently onto the bed, all she has to offer is compliance and somehow it doesn't quite feel like enough.

The mattress dips under her weight and she curls into the padding, shivering slightly as he draws the feather doona up over her shoulder. No longer exposed she starts to feel secure, _safe_ and the notion intensifies as he spoons behind her feeding his warmth through the layers. She's tired, far too tired to question the wisdom in letting him stay. Also he seems to need the contact as much as she does, whispering soft reassurances that are clearly for both their benefit.

She hates appearing weak but sometimes, on the rarest of occasions...

In moments just like this one.

It _does _feel nice to be taken care of.

OO

OO

**AN: So it was meant to be a one-shot but reviews maketh the story :P **


	3. Chapter 3

He isn't surprised when he wakes to find her gone.

He is however caught off guard when the sound of running water filters down into his perception. For a second he thinks there must be a burst pipe somewhere and is almost ready to bound up, hoping to escape the leakage, when his brain starts to produce a more rational explanation. The remnants of sleep are subsequently replaced with the logical notion it's the shower running and he frowns a little, gaze drifting to clock on the mantle.

It's late, nearly ten o'clock and while he wont deny they both needed the rest, he's amazed that a) Magnus hasn't already fled the situation and b) no one has come looking for either of them yet.

The water suddenly stops and he can't help the involuntary warmth that creeps up his neck as he tries hard not to imagine her naked body only a few metres behind the closed door. It's like asking a bull not to run at a red flag but fortunately, as was the case last night, his concern takes precedence as he considers moving to make sure she's okay.

Yesterday he waited too long, wrestled with the decision for over an hour and he doesn't dare think about what might of happened if he'd ignored the nagging urge to check her... but even using hindsight as a moral compass, this situation is different and there's nothing to suggest she's in any sort of trouble.

He's been lucky thus far, getting away with more than he ought to given her aversion to protectiveness. He _should _make an effort to dial down the emotion a notch, not just for her sake but because the others are starting to worry about his own state of health. Trying to run the Sanctuary, manage his own work load and still find time to watch over her is taxing and the dedication is leading to questions. One's he's not adequately prepared to answer, most especially with the truth.

He gives it another ten minutes, needing a viable excuse to barge in on her naked _again_ in under twenty-four hours but he's not even off the bed when he hears the door creak open. She's trying to be quiet and he appreciates the fact, despite being wide awake.

Shifting slowly, so not to startle her -_heaven help him if she lost hold of the towel-_ he coughs subtly to announce his presence and when she sees he's up, a rushed apology for the previous night quickly spills from her lips.

She might of stayed but it's clear she's embarrassed and he finds it oddly amusing that her pride inhibits her to ask for help, yet she has no obvious problem parading around him in nothing but a towel. Not that he's complaining. It's a relief to see her moving about, more progress than he's seen in days and he suspects it's largely due to acquiring a full nights sleep.

Unfortunately though, the relief unintentionally shifts his focus to the large expansion of her skin that's exposed and the smile quickly drops from his face. He hates to admit it but without the mask of concern there's a certain amount of awkwardness palpable between them... but when she moves to the bed, a bundle of clothes folded neatly in her hands, he's actually glad for the slightly uncomfortable position they're in. It means she has nothing left to lose by asking for help and he obliges, making room as she sits facing away from him on the mattress.

Without a word the towel drops to her waist and he has to remind himself to breathe as she delicately takes her bra, covering her chest and holding it in place. The smell of her shampoo is intoxicating and he prays that she doesn't notice his fingers trembling slightly as they push aside her damp curls, trying to avoid the multitude of faded bruises down her back. She winces in response but he's relieved to learn it's from cold hands, not her injuries.

Breathing out an apology, he's a little distracted as he works the clasp together but the hooks fasten with ease and he takes his time unravelling the straps, running his thumb lightly over her skin until the elastic twists back into place. She shivers beneath the touch and he reaches for her shirt, gently guiding her arms into the sleeves. He's sure she could probably manage with the buttons but takes the gamble by kneeling in front of her and is relieved when doesn't push his hands away.

In fact, the smirk she's wearing makes it feel like he's the one being granted a favour and in a way there's truth to the notion. She's letting him help, _allowing_ him to be this close and he drinks in every second, warming under her inquisitive gaze. They both know he doesn't need to be doing this, that she's entirely capable and yet she remains perfectly still as he secures the last button in place.

Glancing up, he catches her gaze and holds it wondering how much further she'll let him take this. He might be wrong but he almost swears her eyes are telling him to take the risk and he pushes the towel back, curling his hand over her warm thigh. She emits a soft moan at the contact and his stomach tightens in response, his mind filling with flashes of her body pressed beneath his, her lips hot and bruised as he pushes her back to the bed..._god_, he wants so badly to engage in the fantasy but holds back for fear of hurting her.

She's in no condition to be thrown about and as much as her slight whimper encourages it, he uses all his resolve to not be swayed, biting down hard as he reaches for her underwear. Of 'course' she would only wear silk, the material fuelling a desire he's literally shaking with and he's grateful when her fingers take the burden so he can focus on getting the last of her clothing.

He feels foolish, _embarrassed _that he can't manage the simple task of dressing her without becoming aroused but when her hand gingerly clasps his face, it urges away the frustration. She's thanking him; for waiting, for not taking advantage of the situation and for not turning it into a big deal. However, it's her verbal apology that surprises him the most. When she admits that asking for help isn't such a bad thing and she intends to do it more often. He's immediately suspicious until he realises that by 'help' she means 'getting dressed' or as the case may be getting undressed... and he smiles into her palm, pressing his lips to the warm skin.

The moment is reluctantly broken when she shivers again and realising this time it's from the cold, he hands her the pants clutched firmly in his grasp. It doesn't take her long to navigate into them and then she's up, heading toward the bathroom to dry her hair. He follows her, leaning against the door frame as she goes about the task and folds his arms neatly, simply content to watch her.

It won't last long. Soon they'll be back to the bustle of the Sanctuary and no one will be any the wiser, completely oblivious to the shift in their relationship.

But they'll know.

And really, that's all that matters.


End file.
